


Music

by Spindlly, TheUntitledWritingProject



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, just pure fluff folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spindlly/pseuds/Spindlly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUntitledWritingProject/pseuds/TheUntitledWritingProject
Summary: Charon and Penny settle into life after the water runs clean...A gift for my co-creator Spindlly
Relationships: Charon (Fallout)/Female Lone Wanderer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Music

It was the creaking of the floorboards that got his attention, the small sounds something he still wasn’t used to. The tile floors in the Underworld used to echo, yes, but the hollow sound of too many footsteps reverberating off the walls was far too cold, far too lonely despite how many people were packed in. This was different. Each creak a different pitch, her movements around the house setting them off as she swayed through and about the rooms like keys on the old piano his father used to play. She looked like she was dancing to the music it made.

Megaton had been far too quiet of a town for them to settle in. After all she had been through though, she had wanted it. Wanted what little peace could be found in a town built literally around an atomic bomb, disabled or not. In a dusty old shack whose last owner probably met some unfortunate fate or another, the poor bastard. The neighbors were loud and the street was noisy and he swore the same damn child of atom beat on their door every morning to hand him a poorly drawn pamphlet. Kid flinched the same way every morning when he saw it was Charon who took it, persistent little shit. There was a draft in the kitchen he had no idea how to fix. The water gave out half the time no matter how often she banged on the pipes. And the old man two doors down told them every Thursday the house was haunted, though Charon was sure he was the only thing ghoulish in it.

She’d loved it instantly.

She was humming along to her own tune now, swaying subconsciously as she worked, trying to patch whatever hole was letting air through their wall while cleaning her gear and modifying a rifle he was ninety-seven percent sure was going to be a handgun by the time she finished it. He doubted she knew what she was doing it, singing with whatever music her movements were making. She was just that kind of person. He set his own shotgun down carefully, minding the grooves on the floor that could bump the sight. He didn’t need to look down at them. It had been well over a year since they’d settled into what he hoped was rest for her. She seemed to be enjoying it, at least. The small droop of her lashes, weighed down by all the bullshit this world had put her through, was starting to fade. Her brown eyes that were once so forlorn had yet to lose all of the sadness she’d accumulated on the surface, but he swore some days they almost smiled. Her lips did, at least, the corners of her mouth turning up whenever she caught sight of him. Like she was pleased to see him there, in her little home, taking up room in a too-small chair. She smiled as she worked too, softer, calmer, but a smile all the same.

She smiled as he rose now, his own heavy footsteps adding the base to her melody. She didn’t flinch when he caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face in soft blond hair and just breathed. Her fingers carded between his own, pulling him along with her until they swayed.

Until they danced.

He couldn’t help but hum along with her, the gravel of his voice a bit jarring but she pulled him ever tighter anyway, fingers tracing along the scars they found on his hands. The tune was mindless, made by the same two notes of the floorboards they swayed on. But it sure as hell beat the radio. Beat anything he could remember. She was bright. Bright, vibrant, and alive in his arms. Bright as the soap she had somehow managed to scavenge, the smell still clinging to her hair. Brighter than he ever thought he’d see again.

“Charon…” she chanced quietly, softly, the word traveling along with the music and he swore he’d never go by another name, his first one long lost to history. He hummed in reply, his lips pressed against the top of her head with no intention of moving any time soon. She laughed at that, turning in his arms as she did, resting her own around his shoulders. “To what do I owe the honor of this dance…” she mused gently, fingers curling along his jaw, eyes searching his own. “What’s on your mind big guy?”

He shook his head at that, leaning forward to press a kiss along her forehead, the answer obvious in all regards. The same thing that had been on his mind since she’d waltzed into the worst place under the Earth and decided for some odd reason he was worth a whole hell of a lot of money. The same thing he nearly lost only a few months later. One thing he swore he never wanted to live without again.

“You, Pen. Just you.”


End file.
